


Don Cha Stop

by Tierfal



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/pseuds/Tierfal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I imagine that that might prove slightly disruptive."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don Cha Stop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chococoffeekiss](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chococoffeekiss).



> _Your rhapsody is blowing my coo-ool  
> Your fantasies, they're written for the fools  
> Your long black hair tickles my skin, skin  
> It feels so luscious; come on, do it again, oh, yeah_
> 
> And now it's just what I like  
> Dim down the lights
> 
> Don't cha stop, don't cha stop, don't cha stop, don't cha stop  
> If it makes you feel good
> 
> – "Don't Cha Stop" – The Cars –

Sirius's hair was very tickly indeed.

Which was a royal pain in the arse given that Remus was, incredibly enough, actually trying to _work_.

"It's your own fault, you know," Sirius informed him, hot breath in his ear—which was, incidentally, the single most ridiculous thing that Remus had heard all day, with the possible exception of James's proclamations of his "inherent babe magnetism."

James was stiff competition when it came to absurd statements.

Remus spared Sirius a glance that would have been withering if the other boy hadn't known to combat it with a very experienced pair of puppy eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't follow you," Remus announced.

Sirius smoothed Remus's untidy hair out of the way, the better to nibble unimpeded on his ear—which was firstly distracting as hell; and which was secondly far more enjoyable than it should have been.

He would have concluded that Sirius practiced, but that would have required the fool to _stop_ long enough to differentiate practice from execution.

"You should follow me," Sirius responded, cheerfully, knowing just how predictable it was, "somewhere a little more _private_."

"Sirius," Remus interjected, tilting his head away slowly so as to avoid an inadvertent rush-amputation of his ear, "you're going to have a very private place under six feet of dirt if you don't leave me the hell _alone_."

Under the pretense of browsing the books on the shelf opposite the table he'd claimed, Remus stood, went to it, and ran his fingers over a few embossed titles, glancing at Madam Pince in the hopes that she hadn't noticed the commotion. Fortunately, she appeared to be engaged in browbeating a hapless student, who was tentatively proffering an overdue book and searching surreptitiously for somewhere to run.

Presumably quite aware of the irony, Sirius ran a finger down Remus's spine, and his captive made a valiant effort not to shiver.

"You're fantastically unhelpful," Remus decided.

Sirius twirled him deftly and pushed him against the shelf, the old wood planks and the edges of the books probing his shoulder blades, and five white fingers walked very deliberately up Remus's chest.

Was it a bit warm in here?

"You know—" Sirius began.

"I don't," Remus cut in.

Sirius darted in to nip his neck reproachfully.

"That's why you _listen_, silly boy." He felt Sirius's light-the-room grin against his throat. "Silly, _silly_ boy."

Remus threaded his fingers into Sirius's thick hair and drew his assailant's head a safe distance away from his vulnerable jugular vein.

"What am I supposed to know, Sirius?" he asked sweetly, ignoring the positively affronted look that Sirius was giving him now.

At Remus's persistent innocent blinking, Sirius rolled his eyes and composed his Sexy Face again.

"You know," he repeated, "I've always wanted to seduce you in the library."

Remus felt a bit of a flush creeping into his cheeks already—while Sirius was still being _civil_.

"Really," he managed to deadpan.

If there was one thing Remus Lupin could do in any conceivable situation in the universe—one thing he could do on a capsizing Titanic, during an earthquake, or in front of Oliver Cromwell (and, worse, _had_ done in front of Minerva McGonagall)—it was to deadpan.

"I imagine," he noted, "that that might prove slightly disruptive."

"It's just that you _belong_ here," Sirius went on, kissing down his jaw, "in a lot of ways. You've always got that book smell about you, at least, and—" He snatched one of Remus's hands from where it had been demurely clutching the life out of a shelf label, raised it, and licked along Remus's index finger. "—you're covered in ink."

That couldn't taste very good.

Not that Remus gave a flying fuck.

"You should peruse me," he suggested, "somewhere a little more _private_."

Sirius smirked.

"I thought you might come around," he drawled.

He looked very, very pleased with himself.

Which was fine, because Remus wasn't too unhappy either.


End file.
